The Healing of Harry Potter
by Mage Myrddin
Summary: HIATUS. After the events of GoF, Harry is depressed. Dumbledore decides enough is enough from Harry's relatives and takes the troubled teenager in. Darkness is rising and they must fight Voldemort, but Harry is finding hope in the night, and learning what it is like to be himself, regardless of the expectations of others.
1. Bad Memories

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Harry Potter was not a happy wizard. He had spent the last four years of his life attending Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry for nine months of the year and he had been in some form of danger for all of them.

His first year he had almost been killed by his defence teacher, who was being possessed by the evil wizard who killed his parents.

His second year several students had been attacked and petrified and most of the school believed him to be the culprit. In order to stop these attacks and save the life of his best friend's younger sister, he'd had to enter a secret chamber which most wizards considered mythical and kill a giant poisonous snake without looking into the snakes eyes, which could kill with a direct glance. In doing so he was poisoned himself, and it was only the quick actions of Fawkes, the Headmaster's phoenix, that saved his life. He'd also had to face down the younger version of the wizard who killed his parents - again.

Third year was even closer to his heart. Sirius Black, escaped convict and mass-murderer, had escaped from Azkaban, the Wizarding prison. Of course, Sirius was innocent of all charges, but Harry hadn't known that at the time and had believed that one of the main reasons his parents were dead was free - and coming to kill him. Matters were complicated further by the presence of Dementors at the school, all of whom had a particularly strong effect on Harry. He made an effort to learn how to repel them, but it took time and practice, and each time he'd failed, the presence of the soul-sucking creature had forced him to remember the worst moments of his life - the night his parents died.

But perhaps the biggest blow of them all was when he had believed, for a precious few hours, that he would never have to go back to the Dursleys. They'd been a blight on his life for a long time, and while he'd never complain to anyone of their treatment of him - Dumbledore had impressed the importance of the blood wards on him - that didn't mean he'd not take the opportunity to live with someone who actually wanted him. The Dursleys had made their feelings on the matter abundantly clear.

Perhaps part of his reluctance to complain was caused by his independent nature - the Dursleys had certainly not encouraged that he come to them for help - and perhaps part of it was that the Dursleys had always treated him as a burden, so he didn't tell anyone what was troubling him for fear that they think the same as his Aunt and Uncle and leave him, but a large part of it was how the Wizarding World as a whole regarded Albus Dumbledore.

One might find it difficult to connect the two, but when the answer came, it was rather simple.

The Wizarding World regarded Albus Dumbledore as an insanely powerful light wizard, the only one Voldemort ever feared. They didn't believe he could make mistakes, and as a result, Harry emotionally speaking shared that view, even if logically he knew that everyone did things they regretted. Harry didn't believe Albus Dumbledore could make mistakes, so he must not have made a mistake regarding Harry's placement with the Dursleys.

Put simply, Harry couldn't comprehend the possibility that Dumbledore did not know of his treatment at the hands of the Dursleys, so assumed he did know, and it wasn't bad enough to move him and forsake the protections of the blood wards.

Then came his fourth year. Slipping a few threats to the Dursleys had done wonders for his treatment the summer he turned fourteen, so he had been able to complete his homework properly. For the first time ever, he had a parental figure that he trusted completely to be on his side, no matter what, and even if he wasn't allowed to live with Sirius, he could still confide in him, rely on him, which was more than he'd ever had before. He'd briefly hoped that this year would be different.

Then his name came out of the Goblet of Fire.

Harry had been afraid when he heard about the deaths of previous champions, and the fact that three-fourths of the school were back to hating him - among them his ex-best friend Ron - didn't help. But after he'd succeeded at the first two tasks and prepared extensively for the third, he'd begun to hope that whoever had placed his name in the Goblet was hoping he'd die in the tasks, and for the first time, he felt a ray of hope that he might prove them wrong.

That hope was quickly extinguished. Events spiralled quickly out of control, and before he knew it, Cedric Diggory was dead and Voldemort had returned. He had barely managed to escape with his life, Cedric's body in tow. And now here he was, his godfather off on a dangerous mission, while he was stuck at the Dursleys.

Harry Potter was not happy. He was tired.

Tired of worrying weather people loved him for defeating Voldemort or hated him for being a parselmouth, or announcing Voldemort's return. Tired of worrying about weather his friends stuck by him because he was Harry, or the boy-who-lived. (Ron's jealous reaction to his name being pulled out of the Goblet of Fire gave him an inkling of the answer to that question, too.) Tired of fighting for his life, or his soul, every year, saving innocent people in the process and yet never being believed, packed off to his relatives as if his sole purpose was to save them and once he'd done that, they could safely bury their heads in the sand about the whole thing and sentence him back to hell.

Harry Potter was breaking.

His mistrust in his friends, caused primarily by Ron's betrayal of him before the first task, prevented him from even contemplating talking to them about the events of the third task - not to mention that there was no way they'd understand.

For all that they'd been caught up in the misadventures surrounding him, they hadn't yet grown up. The still believed that good always won in the end, and being honourable always meant you'd win against the bad guy. Harry no longer had it in him to harbour such hope.

For a start, they'd insist that Cedric's death wasn't his fault. And while he could admit that largely it wasn't - Cedric had chosen to accept the cup, and he hadn't been the one to kill the older boy, nor had he wished for the loyal Hufflepuff's death - he would readily admit that he was stupid. If someone was going to take the time to put his name in the Goblet in the hope that he would die, then it was unlikely that they'd leave the final outcome to chance. No, they would try to ensure that he was going to die, and the Triwizard cup was an obvious target. Despite all those readily available facts, he'd still done the honourable thing - which resulted in the pointless death of a kind and loyal student.

Needless to say, that was the source of Harry's newfound realization that being honourable didn't mean you were going to live longer.

Another point that his friends would drastically fail to understand was what it felt like to be trapped by your enemy, to know that there was no way to escape. Outnumbered as he was in that graveyard, in the presence of an enemy who caused him pain simply by being in close proximity to him, Harry was far more familiar than he'd like with the dread of knowing that you could be tortured, and killed, and there was nothing you could do about it.

The pain of the Cruciatus Curse was indescribable. Ron and Hermione trying to sympathize with him about that would be hypocritical in the extreme. They simply couldn't imagine that kind of pain. The Imperious Curse required a tremendous effort to fight against, and neither of his friends had been tested like that.

No, they could not understand.

His godfather was off on a mission for Dumbledore, and it wasn't safe to owl him. If it weren't for that Harry might have confided in his godfather - Sirius would certainly understand his feelings on the Dursleys after being raised a Gryffindor in a House of Blacks and his time in Azkaban had given him a unique understanding of emotional pain, his status as innocent preserving his sanity. The fact remained, however, that Padfoot was not an option.

He briefly considered writing to Remus, as another of his father's friends, but he had never really talked to the man about anything other than school when he was a professor and he felt uncomfortable only doing so now, when he needed someone, as opposed to after his third year when Remus quit. It didn't sit well with Harry to only contact him because he wanted something. After a number of people being friendly with Harry simply because of his name, he was wary of treating others the same way.

Professor McGonagall, as his head of house, might be a good idea, but there was nothing she could really do anyway. Dumbledore wanted him at the Dursleys and his stern Transfiguration Professor was not the person to go to when you wanted to talk about anything even remotely personal. He didn't feel comfortable spilling all his thoughts and feelings to her, even though he had no doubt that she wanted what was best for all her Gryffindors.

The only other person Harry could think of to contact was Professor Dumbledore, but Harry decided against it for several reasons. Dumbledore had already made it clear that he was to return to the Dursleys every summer, for at least a month. Dumbledore already had enough on his plate trying to convince that idiot Fudge that Voldemort was really back. And Harry didn't want to sound like a whiny child complaining about every little thing to the important wizard when the reasons behind everything that has happened lately are abundantly clear, and it was obvious that he had to stay with the Dursleys for his own safety.

So Harry had resolved not to write to anyone by the time the second day of the summer holidays was over.

His relatives, still aware of the threat of Harry's godfather hanging over them, had put Harry into his room and locked the door without so much as a hello. Then again, a hello from the Dursleys was probably hoping for a bit much, Harry mused bitterly.

Harry was let out twice a day and allowed half an hour in the bathroom. He cooked the evening meal before going back up to his room. Once the family had finished eating, Aunt Petunia pushed a can of cold soup, a bottle of water, a piece of fruit (usually on the verge of going off - obviously parts of Dudley's diet that he wasn't as keen on) and a dry slice of toast through the cat flap that had been installed on the door. It was an improvement on last summer, for which Harry was thankful - this summer Hedwig would not be as starved as last. He himself had no appetite, so he gave most of it to Hedwig, and left the rest.

The next week passed like that. Harry gave Hedwig the toast and the softer fruit, left the rest without eating anything himself and sharing the water with Hedwig, though the clever owl refused point-blank to drink more than a third of the bottle. Harry had no idea how an owl could bully him into drinking most of the water, but Hedwig managed.

Harry became steadily weaker due to the lack of food, and was soon running a fever. His hands shook and he gave up most of his homework as hopeless, not being able to hold a quill steady enough to write without the whole thing coming out as complete mess.

Once Harry was not working on his summer assignments, he had little reason to move at all, except to feed Hedwig, go to the bathroom and cook the evening meal. As a result he spent all of his time on his bed, dozing fitfully amidst half-formed nightmares of Cedric's death. The lack of movement caused his muscles to disappear even faster than they were already due to the lack of food. This showed when he was required to do his only remaining chore.

He accidently dropped the second pan of bacon because of the shaking in his hands caused the grease to slop over the edge and burn his arm. Uncle Vernon quickly purpled and dragged him to his room, propelling him inside with a single blow to his ribs, yelling all the while about worthless freaks and how they couldn't be trusted.

Once inside the room, Harry collapsed on his bed, one hand pressed against his aching ribs, and for the first time since the third task, he cried. He cried for the necessity of his staying with people who hated him, but most of all he cried for what he felt he could never have. A family. Because no matter where he went, or who he became, Voldemort would always find him, and the Dark wizard would always take any family he might gain from him.

After that, Harry was not doing any chores for the Dursleys. He was only allowed out to go to the bathroom. He still refused to eat. And the nightmares were getting worse.

Harry had been having nightmares since he returned from school and no longer had access to Madam Pomfrey's supply of Dreamless Sleep potion, but now that he was running a fever, he could add delusions into the mix.

Sometimes it was not Cedric who died in the graveyard, but Ron and Hermione. After that it was Remus and Sirius. Soon everyone he cared about had played a role in his personal little horror show, including the entire Weasley family. If his friends weren't dying in front of him, they were accusing him of being thoughtless and stupid. Ungrateful of all that they had given him.

Two weeks and six days after returning to the Dursleys for the summer holidays, Harry knew that he needed help if he ever wanted to see Hogwarts again. The thing was, it would be so much easier to just stay here and slip away.

But Harry had been able to resist Voldemort's Imperious curse with strength of will; and even in his weakened state, his will had not deserted him. He could not get better at the Dursleys, so he would just have to write to Dumbledore and ask for help.

It was not a decision he made lightly. He chose to write to Dumbledore because no one else would remove him without Dumbledore's permission, so it only made sense to go to the source, so to speak. As for asking to leave the Dursleys, Harry was hesitant to suggest such a thing, regardless of his own health, with the blood wards at play, but he understood that if he did not get better care - three solid meals a day and decent sleep - then he would die, and he knew that Dumbledore would want to know before that happened.

So it was with great effort that he pulled himself up and staggered over to his desk. Hedwig hooted softly in encouragement and he collapsed heavily in his chair. Shakily he pulled a quill and parchment out and began to write, the words barely legible. His head hit the desk unconscious before he even finished, but it was enough for Hedwig. She pulled the parchment out from under her master's hand and flew out of the open window, to the man she hoped would help her master in a way her master's friends couldn't now.

Exactly three weeks after Harry returned to the Dursleys for the summer, Albus Dumbledore was pulling on his cloak for an unexpected visit to number four, Privet Drive.

Three weeks and three days after Harry had returned to the Dursleys for the summer, Albus Dumbledore was loudly cursing his reputation for being all-knowing.


	2. Help Me

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Dumbledore was in his home office when Hedwig, Harry Potter's snowy owl swooped in and deposited a letter on his desk. The headmaster of Hogwarts noted with some trepidation that the letter was not tied on Hedwig's leg, but held in her beak. Either the letter had been sent in a hurry or Harry couldn't tie the letter for some reason. He quickly opened the letter at Hedwig's expectant look, and squinted at the almost illegible writing there.

 _Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

 _I apologise for contacting you in the holidays, but I thought you ought to know that I am ill. I cannot get enough sleep at night and I am running a fever. I do not eat much, if anything - the only reason I was eating before I left Hogwarts was because Ron and Hermione pushed me into it. I am alright, but I can't leave my room and I_

There the letter ended and Dumbledore frowned in concern. Dumbledore would be willing to bet that the lack of sleep was due to nightmares. He should have expected something like this. And what did the rest of the letter mean? The food was obvious enough, though worrying, but why wouldn't Harry be able to leave his room? Dumbledore decided to simply ask Harry himself, but if the state of this letter was any indication, Harry wouldn't even be able to read a return letter, let alone reply.

It was time to visit Privet Drive.

Dumbledore apparated with an almost soundless crack onto the corner of Privet Drive, straight into the afternoon heat. He cast a basic disillusionment charm on himself and strolled down the road, then knocked on number four. When Petunia Dursley answered it, he slipped past her unannounced.

He was loath to invade their privacy this way, but he did not wish to be the cause of Harry's relatives directing more unpleasantness onto Harry himself with an unannounced visit.

He quietly made his way up the stairs, briefly noticing Harry's cousin - who really was quite overweight - playing a computer game through the open door.

That was his first clue. If Dudley Dursley was overweight, then why wasn't Harry?

The second clue was when he turned away from Dudley's bedroom and came face to face with a door that was locked and bolted from the outside. Suddenly Dumbledore had a sinking feeling that he knew what Harry meant about not being able to leave his room. He quickly cast a mild notice-me-not charm over the door to what he assumed to be Harry's room before using _Alohomora_ to enter.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts barely avoided knocking over cold cans of soup sat by the door. With a sickening sense of dread he realized that one of the Dursleys must push food through the cat flap installed in the bottom of the door. He looked around the room, dreading what he would find.

The first thing he saw was Harry slumped over the desk, obviously still there from writing his unfinished letter to Dumbledore. Cursing, he carefully levitated Harry onto the bed. He was still breathing, though shallowly. His forehead was burning hot, and he had become painfully thin in even the short time he had been back here.

Several expletives that his students would be shocked to hear ran through Dumbledore's head, and he called out, quiet enough to avoid notice by the Dursleys, "Dobby!"

Dobby the house elf appeared in the house with a small pop. "What can Dobby be doing to help Mister Dumblydoor sir?" The diminutive creature asked.

"I need you to go pack all of Harry's things without the Dursleys noticing." Dumbledore said firmly. Dobby caught sight of Harry and his eyes filled with tears, but the over excitable elf held his emotions in check and quickly began to pack. "Dobby be's packing all master Harry's things before master Harry's bad family finds out." Dobby said determinedly. Dumbledore gave Dobby a faint smile. "Thank you Dobby. Take everything you pack to my home please, Harry will be staying with us for a while." Dobby grinned happily and carried on packing.

Dumbledore, meanwhile had shown surprising strength for his age and had lifted Harry up, before Apparating straight to the edge of his wards and walking inside. He quickly brought Harry to the guest room and gently set the fragile teen on the bed.

Gathering potions from his emergency supply, he poured an fever reducing potion, a nutrient potion and a dreamless sleep potion into Harry's mouth, softly massaging Harry's throat so he didn't choke. He also cast a few cleaning charms at Harry, as well as transfiguring his ratty clothes into luxurious pyjamas. Convinced that Harry would be fine for now, Dumbledore reluctantly left Harry and sat in his office. There was several letters that he needed to answer, but he found himself unable to concentrate.

Reflecting back on what he had seen in the Dursley household, it was obvious that Harry wasn't well treated. The locks on the door spoke of restriction of freedom, and the fact that Dudley Dursley was so fat and Harry so thin said that Mr and Mrs Dursley spoilt Dudley rotten, whilst denying Harry anything that was not necessary to his survival. Food was pushed in through a cat flap, which was inhumane - Dumbledore had not really thought the implications through at the time, so now that he was considering everything, he found himself getting angry. Harry had never done anything to hurt them, so why they felt the need to return the favour was beyond him.

Dumbledore decided against taking any form of action for now. He would not know the extent of the neglect - and possible abuse - until Harry woke up, and even then he had to convince the stubborn boy to tell him everything.

But try as he might, Dumbledore couldn't make a question that he didn't know the answer to go away.

Why hadn't Harry told him about how the Dursleys were treating him?

 **So, another chapter. Enjoy.**

 **Till next time, Shib. :)**


	3. Grandfather

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

 **Chapter 3 - Grandfather**

Harry stirred in the unfamiliar environment, bringing a hand up to his pounding head. He sat up with a groan and looked around him, his eyes widening slightly as surprise overcame him. He jumped a little as a house elf appeared in the room with a crack.

"Dobby?" Harry asked confused.

"Master Harry Potter sir is awake." Dobby said excitedly. "Dobby is supposed to tell Master Harry Potter sir that Dumbly-door sir wishes to speak with Master Harry Potter sir as soon has he has eaten." He snapped his fingers and a bowl of chicken soup with some bread appeared in front of him. "Dumbly-door sir told me to tell Master Harry Potter sir that you are at Dumbly-door's house and he took you from the bad family. He says you must eat all your food."

With another crack, he was gone.

Off balance from the sudden change in surroundings but knowing that Dobby wouldn't be so cheerful if he was in the hands of the enemy, Harry spooned up his soup almost on autopilot, slowing down slightly as his empty stomach complained from the sudden change in food quality. He'd had more than enough practice adjusting from the beginning of his first year at Hogwarts, and all the years after. After he'd finished the food, he carefully set the tray aside and threw his legs over the side of the bed. The room, when he looked around, was clearly a guest bedroom. The walls were pastel blue, and the bedclothes were plain white. The carpet was white and thick, and Harry happily curled his toes in it, revelling in the sensation. All the floors at Hogwarts were stone, and the Dursleys had certainly never given him any luxury such as this. He stood shakily, leaning back against the bed as his legs wobbled. He was still weak from the Dursleys. It said a lot that Harry didn't even question his weakness, simply writing it off as something that happened every year.

Legs still weak, he staggered over to the door, before taking a look at himself. He was dressed in clean pyjamas, a light blue to match the room. He opened the door and crept quietly into the hallway. At the end of the corridor to his left, a door was ajar, and he could see warm firelight spilling out into the hallway. He walked quietly closer, peering through the gap. Dumbledore was sitting in the cosy room behind a desk, quill scratching on parchment. The walls were lined with bookshelves that were full to the brim, and a soft armchair was sat in front of a merry fire. Harry watched the Headmaster for a few moments, unable to tell if the Headmaster was angry with him. He was pretty sure it wasn't time for him to leave the Dursleys yet, so Dumbledore must have come to get him in his own time. Hesitant, and calling up the vestiges of his Gryffindor bravery, he knocked quietly on the door.

 _Dumbledore's point of view_

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore penned replies to the letters sent to him by his various contacts, able to hold his focus on the letters rather than on the teenager in his guest bedroom through sheer force of will. Or he was, until a soft knock on the door distracted him. His head shot up and he looked upon an awake and aware Harry Potter for the first time since the end of the school year.

Harry looked awful. He appeared even more painfully thin in the firelight, and dark shadows stood out under his eyes. The pyjamas he had transfigured for the boy hung off of his skinny frame. Harry's skin was deathly pale and he could see the tremors going through the boy's legs from here.

"Harry." Dumbledore said. "Sit down, please." Quickly, before you collapse, he silently added. Harry shuffled over to the comfy chair by the fireplace and sat in it gratefully. Dumbledore surveyed him gravely over his half-moon spectacles. "Why were you locked in your room at your Aunt and Uncle's house, Harry?"

Whatever question Harry had expected him to ask, it wasn't that. His eyes widened slightly and his head ducked down. His hands tightened around the hem of his shirt. "Because I couldn't do any chores and I woke up my relatives in the night a couple times." Harry explained.

Dumbledore could guess that Harry woke up his relatives in the night with nightmares, but what about the chores? And what kind of people forced a child who was obviously going through emotional trauma to do chores, or stay in their room all the time? "What chores did they expect you to do, Harry?"

"Just cooking, this summer." Harry said quickly.

"This summer?" Dumbledore asked. Harry winced.

"Harry." Dumbledore walked around his desk and knelt in front of the teen. Harry kept his eyes glued to the floor, so Dumbledore gently cupped his chin and forced Harry to look at him. "Tell me everything they did to you. Everything that you know or even suspect isn't the case for other children."

It all came spilling out. "I usually do most of the chores around the house, cooking, cleaning, gardening. I'm never given enough food, and Dudley always eats whatever he wants. I'm left at a babysitters whenever the Dursleys go on a family outing. They and Aunt Marge always insult my parents. They told the neighbours that I go to St Brutus Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. Dudley is the bully of the neighbourhood and his favourite game when he was younger was Harry Hunting. Until my first Hogwarts letter came, my bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs, they only moved me then because they thought that you were watching the house. Whenever I did accidental magic I was locked in my cupboard for days. If I did anything they didn't like, I wasn't given any food as punishment. Aunt Marge let her dog chase me up a tree, and only stopped him hours later, and even then only because it was the dogs dinnertime." Harry stopped and took a deep breath, his eyes once again fixed firmly on the floor.

Dumbledore's thoughts were frozen. He knew that he would later feel angry about this, but for now he was too horrified at what his decision had done to Harry. He had placed Harry with his fami - no, relatives, and in doing do he had condemned Harry to a loveless childhood, where he was unable to grow and play as he should. Instead Harry had been forced to mature far too early as he dealt with things he should never have had to - things that Tom Riddle had also had to deal with. A lump formed in his throat. Harry deserved better. He made Harry look at him again. "Harry." He said softly. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I told some teachers at primary school, but the Dursleys told everyone I was a liar so no-one believed me, and the Dursleys would punish me afterwards, so I stopped trying." Harry said quietly.

"Harry." Dumbledore said firmly. "Why did you never tell me? Or Minerva, or Poppy?"

"Because I thought you already knew." The words hung in the air between them, and Dumbledore felt like crying with frustration. Did Harry really believe he would condone Harry staying with his relatives when they were anything but a loving family to him? He wanted Harry raised away from fame, not make him suffer the same as Tom Riddle.

"Why did you think I already knew, Harry?" He asked gently.

"The blood wards." Harry said softly. "You said they were important, so I thought you knew but it wasn't enough to give up the blood protection."

"What's done is done, I suppose. Harry, look at me now." Harry did so, and Dumbledore continued talking. "You aren't going back to the Dursleys."

"But the blood protections-" Harry began.

"Aren't worth that price." Dumbledore cut him off. "You can stay with me for now. And since Voldemort continues to target you year after year, you can go to Hogwarts in disguise. You can be one of my brothers grandsons, I think."

"But - my friends-" Harry started.

"Will be told that you are learning the fifth year material in a safe house, where Voldemort can't reach you. I'm sure they'll understand that after the events of last year, you need to be kept safe. As for your cover story ..." Dumbledore gazed at Harry thoughtfully. "You were found by my nephew and her husband on their travels and were blood-adopted, giving you some of the Dumbledore features and magic. You have been taught by them in magic for the past two years and are a fast learner, but you have been having trouble coping lately so I offered to take you in for the summer and give you a place at Hogwarts. Would you rather be an average-sized third year or and under-sized fourth year?"

"If I'm going to have a bad childhood in my cover story, I might as well be undersized, it will fit better." Harry said glumly.

"Fourth year then. When we re-Sort you, you should ask the Hat to be placed somewhere other than Gryffindor. It will further separate you from Harry Potter and you won't be as near to your friends that way, I don't want them to recognise you. Besides, I don't want you to find as much trouble this year. Maybe that will be easier for you if you're not in the house of the terminally reckless."

"The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. What if it does this time? Won't people talk if a Dumbledore is in the house of the Snakes?" Harry protested.

"So what if they talk? If Voldemort does begin to suspect that my new grandson is Harry Potter in disguise, you being in Slytherin will only offset that suspicion. Also, maybe you can better the reputation of the House of the Snakes by being in their midst. It isn't being in Slytherin that made Voldemort evil, because Slytherin is what he was, and that in itself isn't evil. What made Voldemort evil, Harry, was his choices. You being in Slytherin does not make you the same as him." Dumbledore spoke kindly, but with certainty. Harry nodded jerkily, a bit overwhelmed by the events of the day.

"What will your name be?" Dumbledore said kindly, knowing Harry needed something to take his mind off of the sudden changes in his life.

"I don't know." Harry said quietly.

"Well, my brother and his children tend to stick to first names beginning with A, so you could be Altair, Aleron, Alaric, Aldous, Allistair, Albion or Alphard. There are a few others but those are the main ones."

"Any of those would be okay I guess." Harry said quietly.

"That isn't the point, Harry. Which one do you like the most?" Dumbledore felt his anger begin to rise, not at Harry, but at himself. Was Harry always this quiet? How could he have not seen this before?

"Um, I like Aleron, I guess." Harry said uncertainly.

"Aleron Aberforth Dumbledore it is then. Now that you're my grandnephew, or grandson for simplicities sake, you should call me Grandfather."

"Uh, okay, I guess ... Grandfather." Harry said quietly, and Dumbledore smiled happily at him. "You're currently too weak to go very far, so I'm afraid you'll be restricted to bed rest for a while." He brought a pile of books over to the teenager. "The textbooks for next year, as well as both muggle and magical fiction. I'm afraid you'll have to entertain yourself while I write a letter to my brother. I've sent Dobby out to buy a variety of clothes in your size, you can pick out what you like best once he gets back."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Dumbledore fixed him with a Look. "Don't argue, Aleron. I'm simply giving you what you should have had all along, and decent clothes, three meals a day, and presents on your birthday and at Christmas are a part of that."

Harry ducked his head a little. "Yes, Grandfather." He muttered. Dumbledore smiled, pleased. "Excellent. When you're feeling a bit better we'll go to the opticians and buy you some blue muggle contact lenses, as your glasses are quite distinctive, and I'll place a glamour over that scar of yours. I should only have to renew it every week or so."

Harry nodded resignedly. "Okay, Grandfather." Harry - Aleron - picked up a book and began to read, and Dumbledore went back to his desk to carry on writing his letters.

Half and hour later, when Dumbledore looked up to check on Aleron, he saw the boy was fast asleep. He smiled softly at his grandson and continued to write.

* * *

 **So, third chapter done. Read, review and enjoy.**

 **Harry will be referred to as Aleron for the most part.**

 **Till next time, Shib. :)**


	4. Cover Story

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

 **Chapter 4 - Cover Story**

Aleron woke the next morning feeling less weak and wobbly, but a lot hungrier. The sky outside his window, when he got up to check, was dawn's steel-grey light, and getting brighter every minute. He looked around the room, feeling a little overwhelmed at how nice everything was. Remembering yesterday's conversation, Aleron sat down again.

 _My name is Aleron now. Aleron Aberforth Dumbledore._ He didn't quite know how he felt about that. On one hand, he was no longer the Boy Who Lived, no longer subject to the whims of public opinion. On the other, his name was something that his parents had given him, parents that he hardly remembered. Before he could dwell on it too long, Dobby popped in, a tray of food hovering beside him.

"Breakfast, Master Aleron sir. Dumbly says you must eat as much as you can, and you must also take this." Dobby held a vial of undoubtedly foul potion out to him. "Clothes is in the wardrobe sir, Dumbly says to dress in whatever you like most."

"What is it, Dobby?" Aleron asked, holding the potion to the light.

"Nutrient potion, Master Aleron sir. Will fill you out again, though it can't help enough to make you grow." Dobby said cheekily. Aleron sighed and swallowed the disgusting liquid in one go, choking on the taste and only barely keeping it down. Dobby floated the tray to Aleron's bedside table and popped out. Walking over to the bedside table, he looked at the breakfast given to him; an omelette, a bowl of muesli mixed with fruit and orange juice, and a large glass of orange juice. Aleron dug in. Dumbledore - no, Grandfather, he mentally corrected - would not be happy if he didn't eat.

Once he cleared the plate, feeling almost uncomfortably full, he made his way to the wardrobe Dobby pointed out. To his utter shock, there was an undetectable extension charm on it, and the wardrobe was still filled to the brim with lots and lots of clothes, both Wizarding and Muggle. Browsing through the seeming endless racks of different sizes, types and styles of clothes, before picking out a shirt, hoodie and jeans that for once, actually fit him. Putting on socks and shoes that were the right size for once actually made Aleron wonder how he'd ever managed without them. No more socks slipping off his feet inside the shoe because they were too big, or the sole of his shoe coming out because Dudley had worn them to death before him.

He couldn't help but smile happily at the thought that he wouldn't have to put up with cast-offs again while he was in disguise. Dumbledore - Grandfather - said that he'd be going to Hogwarts in disguise, so he would probably go under the Dumbledore name until the end of his fifth year at least. Well, fourth really. At least repeating the same material should allow him to do his homework better. Also now that he wouldn't be Harry Potter, he might not receive so much animosity from the Slytherins.

Then again, they disliked Dumbledore almost as much as they did Harry Potter. He wondered if he really would be put in Slytherin when he was sorted again. If so, would the rest of the House shun him, or would they test him to see if he was worth it? He had to conclude that the House of Snakes would test him. The cunning weren't likely to try and harm him unless they were sure he didn't have the strength to turn around and harm them right back.

Putting the mildly nerve-racking thoughts away, Aleron pulled the door of his room open and headed down the hallway to the room he found Dumbledore in last night. The Headmaster was sat behind his desk, writing letters. He looked up when Aleron entered, face breaking into a smile when he saw the boy up and walking steadier than he had yesterday.

"Good morning, Aleron." He greeted cheerfully.

"Good morning, Grandfather." Aleron mumbled, sinking into the seat he had fallen asleep in yesterday.

"We need to go out to buy you contact lenses today, if you feel up to it. We might as well stop off at Diagon Alley as well, you'll need things for your fourth year." Dumbledore looked at his new grandson piercingly, as though trying to evaluate by sight alone weather Aleron would be alright to go out and buy things so soon after being starved.

Aleron nodded. "That's fine."

Aleron had apparently passed the test because Dumbledore stopped surveying him with that piercing gaze and carried on writing his letter, speaking as he wrote. "We'll need to get the greater part of your disguise in place before we leave. I'll cover up your scar and change your hair colour. We can get it cut while we're out so it doesn't look quite as distinctive, and you can put the contacts in as soon as we've got them. Green eyes shouldn't give you away while we're in the muggle world. That only leaves one part of your disguise left." Dumbledore finished the letter and reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a thin silver bracelet.

"Because blood-adopted children aren't raised with other pureblood children, sometimes heirs to noble families might not recognise blood-adopted children as heirs of families allied to them, and therefore insult them and cause relations between the two families to degrade. To stop their children from ruining good relations between a family, blood adopted children would wear a bracelet with the coat of arms of their new family and, if they had a noble family before they were adopted, the coat of arms from that as well. Such bracelets often had protections on them, as does this one." Dumbledore handed the thin silver band to Aleron and gestured for him to slide it onto his right wrist. Turning it over in his hands, Aleron did so.

The cool metal tightened around his wrist until it was skin-tight, but without it stopping the blood flow to his hand or being uncomfortable. As he watched, the metal on top of his wrist where the face of a watch would be if his hadn't broken during the second task, widened until it was an oval about a centimetre and a half in diameter and the Dumbledore crest etched itself onto the surface. "On top of the usual protections I also added one to change your scent so Remus or Sirius won't be able to smell through your disguise and another to subtly change your voice so although you won't actually sound that different, people won't automatically associate you with Harry Potter."

Aleron nodded in acknowledgement. "Are we not going to tell Sirius and Remus where I am then? Sirius will be worried, I think."

Dumbledore looked at his new grandson and wondered how to put this. He couldn't tell Aleron that he didn't want to let Sirius know where Harry was in case the brash Gryffindor was captured and tortured. "Sirius and Remus are both on active duty for the Order. Remus's condition and Sirius's status as a fugitive makes hiding in the Wizarding world hard for them, but it also means that they have no ties - jobs, friends, people who expect to see them on a regular basis - which means that they can do far more than most Order members, as people like Arthur Weasley can't skip work at the Ministry for the Order without one of Voldemort's spies suspecting that Arthur was doing something for me. As such I don't want to distract him by giving him all the information he needs to sneak off and find you. Besides which, not having his full focus on the job could be dangerous if Sirius and Remus get into a scuffle with any of the less savoury elements of society, since their job usually relies on recovering gossip from some of the Darker places."

Aleron stared at the bracelet on his wrist as he thought about that. He knew that what Sirius sometimes did was dangerous - given his reckless nature Aleron was aware that his godfather didn't like sitting around and not doing anything. His rush to Hogsmeade when Harry complained that his scar was hurting was evidence of that, as was his blindness in chasing after Pettigrew the night Harry's parents died.

"Will he know I'm safe?" Aleron questioned. "I don't want anyone to worry about me."

"Of course, I hardly think your friends will take kindly to being kept in the dark." Dumbledore said. "I suspect that by the time the second day of school I over all the Wizarding World will know that Harry Potter is being trained in a safe house. Besides," he added, eyes twinkling. "If I didn't tell your godfather that you were at least safe, I rather think he'd go looking for you himself, possibly with Miss Granger and Mr Weasley in tow."

Aleron chuckled weakly. Perhaps they would, at that.

Standing, Dumbledore walked to the window and an owl swooped in. Dumbledore tied the letter to it's leg and sent it on it's way with a whispered word. "I have informed Aberforth of my intentions regarding your disguise, and while he and I often do not get on, he agrees with me on this. Moreover, I do get on quite well with my nieces and nephew, so it is perfectly possible that I was asked to look after you. Our ruse will not be discovered from that quarter."

"Good." Aleron said quietly. A part of him that he hadn't even realised existed had been worried that his new 'family' would reject him. Would Dumbledore be angry with him for being such a burden if they refused to pretend he was their son? But it seemed he didn't have to worry about any of that.

"Aleron, are you okay?" Dumbledore asked, concern lining his face. Aleron gave a muttered yes in reply, but the old Headmaster clearly didn't believe him. To stop his grandfather from worrying about him, at least for now, Aleron stood up and sent a smile towards the old man. "When are we going to leave to buy the last of my disguise?"

"Now, if you're feeling okay." Dumbledore said, not fooled by Aleron's change of subject. Aleron was acting withdrawn, unhappy, and Dumbledore was going to find out why.

Aleron nodded. "I feel fine."

"Okay then, we'll go now." Dumbledore said, still wondering what had caused his grandson to withdraw so. He walked over to the child and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, not missing the miniscule flinch when he did so, like Aleron was expecting to be hit. He frowned inwardly and added it to his list of things to find out about the teenager. Maybe he should find a reason to perform a diagnostic spell on the boy. He knew Poppy used an in-depth charm when she examined Harry, but that only showed his current injuries. If he used a spell to reveal all of Aleron's past injuries, what would he find?

"This is going to feel a little uncomfortable." Dumbledore said, temporarily opening the wards so they could Apparate out and with a twist and a crack, they were gone.


End file.
